Some Other Child

by Buchbinder, Sharon

  Chapter Eight

  Doctors, nurses, patient families, and dietary staff crowded the ICU. Hair-netted workers delivered dinner trays for those patients who could eat by themselves, and aides attempted to feed those who couldn’t.

  Debbie was right, Sarah thought as she approached her mother’s bedside. Ethel looked wonderful with her silver hair flowing over her pillow, like an elderly version of Sleeping Beauty. She’d never thought of her mother as a physically attractive woman until that moment. In this state of suspended animation, Ethel’s mean mouth was stilled. Her cheeks had a blush of pink color, and she looked relaxed and, dare she think it, happy.

  “Mom, you look great.” Sarah held her hand. “This place is like a spa for you. Maybe we’ll get a manicurist up here to do your nails.”

  She took a deep breath. There would never be a better time to have this discussion with her mother. She began in a soft voice, just above a whisper. “Aunt Ida told about how you sent me away to save me—” Sarah felt Ethel’s hand twitch and jerk in hers.

  “Ohmigod.” Sarah jumped up. “You moved!”

  Skidding around the nursing station, Sarah launched herself into the small, glassed-in conference room where Dr. Merrill sat, sipping coffee and reading a book.

  “My mother’s coming to. She pulled on my hand while I was talking to her!”

  “Hold on a second. Have a seat.” Dr. Merrill pointed to a chair.

  Sarah jiggled on her feet in the doorway. “Come with me. Now. She’s moving!”

  Dr. Merrill shook her head. “Let me pull up her Electronic Medical Record and see what her neurology reports say.” She turned to the computer behind her and began tapping at the keyboard. “Okay, here we are. Looks like she passed the hearing test with flying colors.”

  “No kidding. She jerked her hand because I was telling her something important.”

  “Sometimes comatose patients can have non purposeful movements,” Dr. Merrill said in a sympathetic tone of voice. “It’s good you talk to her. She needs to hear your voice, know you’re there with her. Lots of patients who recover recall conversations they heard while in the coma.”

  Sarah shook her head, “No. She understood me and she responded.”

  “Hold on. Here’s the EEG report.” Dr. Merrill scanned the screen. “I’ll cut to the chase and read the interpretation to you. ‘Abnormal EEG. This activity differs in appearance from alpha rhythm, which occurs with normal background in its lack of reactivity. Compatible with alpha coma. Although this pattern indicates a poor prognosis, instances of recovery have been reported on occasion. Clinical correlation is recommended’.” She looked up from the computer and locked gazes with Sarah. “I’m sorry.”

  She heard me, Sarah wanted to shout at the doctor. No matter what Dr. Merrill quoted to her, she knew her mother had heard her. But that didn’t matter if no one else believed her. She had to think about the future and about getting her mother the best care she could afford. Throat tight, mouth dry, she swallowed hard and tried to speak. Tears ran down her cheeks. At last, she whispered, “Would you please help me find a good nursing home?”

  “The Social Work Department coordinates discharge planning and skilled nursing facility placements, or SNFs.” The doctor handed Sarah a box of tissues. “A few here in Maryland have traumatic brain injury programs. I think there may even be one in Pikesville. Sensory stimulation programs for comatose patients are considered experimental, aren’t covered by Medicare or Medicaid.”

  “Do you happen to recall the name of the facility?”

  The doctor’s brow furrowed. “Shady Rest? Something like that.”

  At six in the evening, Sarah doubted she’d reach anyone in the nursing home admissions office. First thing tomorrow, she’d call them and arrange a visit. Right now, she needed to head home, take care of the animals. As she headed out to the parking lot, she realized she hadn’t heard from Aunt Ida. She should have called by now. Sarah checked her cell phone for missed calls.

  The battery was dead.

  “Dammit.” Unused to having the gadget, she’d forgotten to recharge it. She gave herself a mental smack on the forehead. Shaking her head, she pulled out the directions to 4555 Pecan Hollow Court, and with any luck, the elusive Bessie Woods or her relatives. “Groceries first, detective work after.”

  Traffic was relatively light on the highway and in the Old Court Giant grocery store. Debra and Dr. Johnson were right. It was time to take care of herself.

  She grabbed some eggs, egg substitute, sugar-free low fat yogurt, skim milk, apples, baby carrots, and a bag of salad for the new healthy shelf she’d be creating in the refrigerator. Then she saw a store clerk putting out freshly baked pies.

  Pies. Comfort food. God knew she needed some comfort. Just one last hurrah. Then, she’d get right on her new diet. They were fruit pies. Wasn’t fruit healthy? Which would it be? The cherry pie was always good, but tonight they had apple, too. She toyed with the idea of getting both, but decided she didn’t want the cashier to ask her how many people were coming for dessert. On the other hand, if she did the self-serve checkout lane, there’d be no questions asked. Yes, two pies. Worst case scenario, she’d take one to work. Problem solved. Monster sweet tooth satisfied.

  She checked the time. It was about a quarter after seven in the evening. If Dr. and Mrs. Woods were home, perhaps they wouldn’t mind if Sarah tapped on their door and asked a few questions. She sat in the grocery store parking lot and practiced her approach.

  “Yes, I’m looking for Bessie Woods. She was a patient at the Johns Hopkins Clinic in the forties, and we’re doing some follow-up research.”

  Eww. That didn’t sound good. Visions of guinea pigs break danced in her head.

  She’d have to appeal to Dr. and Mrs. Woods’ sense of helping other people and contributing to a greater good.

  “We’re hoping our work will help other kids and prevent this disease. We need your help.” That was better. At least she didn’t sound like Dr. Demento on a mission to experiment on humans. “Ready, set, go before you chicken out, Sarah.”

  A secluded cul-de-sac, Pecan Hollow Court branched off Birch Hollow Drive. The red brick house with white siding and a carport appeared to be well maintained. Sarah pulled a sales brochure out of a plastic tube hanging in front of the house. Built in 1946, the Stevenson rancher sat on an acre of land, with five bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms, all totally redone in the last ten years. It also had a workshop, storage room, recreation room, and a completely renovated kitchen with a Sub-Zero refrigerator, Wolf double oven, gas range and grill, and a five hundred-bottle wine cellar in the basement, all for $489,999.

  The real estate flyer starred “Rivah the Realtor.” A color photo showed a blonde, overly made up, truly zaftig woman in a low cut, gold sequined sweater exposing generous cleavage. She appeared to have believed the photographer when he said, “The camera loves you, baby!” because the expression on her face belonged in X-rated videos. Under the leering lady’s mug shot, the caption proclaimed, “Call Rivah and She’ll Make You a Believah!” In what?

  The carport was empty.

  Sarah knocked at the door and peeked through the kitchen window.

  No furniture. Not even a kitchen chair.

  The lawn was mowed, and no newspapers lay on the driveway. The mailbox was empty, devoid of even a pizza flyer.

  Sarah considered knocking on the neighbors’ doors to ask them what happened to the Woods, but couldn’t come up with a good cover story on the spot. She tucked the real estate brochure into her purse, climbed into her car, and headed home. When she was able to use her cell phone again, she’d call Rivah the Realtor. Maybe she’d tell Sarah where to find the Woods. More likely, she’d try to sell her a house.

  A pile of bills sat in Sarah’s mailbox. “Enough already.”

  She shoved the mail into a grocery bag, and put the key in the deadbolt lock, but before she could turn the knob, the door swung inward.

  “Hello?”<
br />
  What you were supposed to do in case you discover a burglary? Were you supposed to go in, or stay outside and call the police?

  Her cell phone was dead. Panic rose in her chest, quickly followed by relief. She hadn’t locked the deadbolt when she rushed off to work that morning. The doorknob was loose and the latch didn’t line up properly. That was all.

  “Settle down, Sarah. Don’t let your imagination go into hyper drive.”

  She set the bags down on the kitchen table. No Winston jammed his nose in her crotch, nor was Neferkitty twirling on the counter. Where were the animals?

  The house was silent. Something was wrong with this picture.

  Pins and needles prickled her skin. She looked around for a weapon and grabbed a butcher’s knife out of the wooden block next to the range.

  Sarah crept down the hallway, slammed her bedroom door against the wall, and shrieked like a banshee as she leaped into the room with the knife held on high.

  For a split second, she beheld a strange tableau.

  Winston was on his back in the middle of her bed, all four feet in the air, and his head on her pillow. Wrapped around his head, like a fat, brown, furry boa constrictor was Mitzi. At his side, curled in a ball, was Neferkitty.

  All sound asleep.

  Until she awoke them with her Tasmanian Devil-woman-with-knife-routine.

  Winston jumped to his feet on the bed and barked. The bed shook with the force of his fear. Neferkitty leaped at Sarah’s shoulder and landed on her chest, making her lose her grip on the butcher knife. Mitzi bolted between her legs, threw Sarah off balance and knocked her on her butt. Claws firmly attached to Sarah’s chest, Neferkitty held on for dear life as Sarah fell like an axed tree. A brown blur that had to be Mitzi blasted past and flew to parts unknown.

  When Sarah sat up, weak with laughter, Neferkitty relented and climbed onto her shoulder. The next hour consisted of apologizing to Winston verbally and in sign language as he kept shooting her hurt looks. She fed both animals, petted, and soothed them. Mitzi had to be hiding somewhere in the house. When she settled down, she’d come out for food. Sarah plugged in her cell phone, grabbed a bite to eat, and called Aunt Ida.

  Voicemail.

  “Hi, Aunt Ida, it’s just me, trying to track you down. Hope you had a good day. I’ll try the hotel now. Love ya.”

  Calling the first hotel on her itinerary in North Carolina, Sarah asked to be connected to Ida’s room.

  “One moment please.” Keys clicked on a computer. “She hasn’t checked in yet. May I leave a message for her?”

  “Are you sure?” Sarah stopped sipping her tea. “She can’t drive after dark. Do you have a restaurant there?”

  “ Yes, we do, but it’s closed now. It’s after ten in the evening, Sugar. The kitchen closes at nine.”

  This was odd. Totally out of character for Aunt Ida not stick to her schedule. “Is there any place nearby she might have walked to or taken a cab for dinner?”

  “We’re next door to a bank and a hospital, no restaurants.”

  The ER receptionist was absolutely certain no Ida Mae Katz had come through their doors. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “you should call the State Police.”

  The North Carolina State Police had no report of any accident involving a large, white Cadillac with a “Mah Jong Maven” bumper sticker on the window, much less a woman named Ida Mae Katz.

  “Since she can’t drive after dark,” the dispatcher suggested. “Maybe she stopped at a hotel sooner rather than later.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Sarah said. But why hadn’t she called? It was unlike Aunt Ida to be so inconsiderate. Where the heck was she?

  Unbidden, Dan’s Chicago telephone number leaped into her mind. Dan hated whiners. She took a deep breath, and worked on being cheerful and upbeat. She was just calling to keep him informed of her mother’s status. Hadn’t he told her to call if she wanted to talk?

  “Hello?”

  “Dan, it’s Sarah.”

  “Hey, how are you? Hold on a sec while I turn the TV down.”

  He sounded happy to hear from here. She’d read people could hear you smile on the phone. She grinned so hard her face hurt.

  “I’m back. What’s up?”

  “I just thought I’d give you an Ethel update.” She described her visit to the ICU, the hand jerk, and the doctor’s response. He made listening noises at all the right times.

  “What do you think? Part of me thinks she’s having a good laugh at my expense, the other part thinks she’s never coming out of it.”

  “It’s not my specialty, Sarah, but you never know with comas. There was a man who came out of a coma after nineteen years. He thought Nixon was still President.”

  “Rip van Winkle.”

  “Pretty much. How are you holding up?”

  “Work is keeping me from thinking about my mother every minute of the day and freaking out. I’m trying to track down someone who was seen at the Children’s Clinic in the forties.” She described the project, and let him know that Peter’s wife had suggested including church affiliations in the study.

  “How’s your Aunt Ida doing?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from her since she left for Florida. I’m getting worried.” She gave him the short version of her efforts to reach Aunt Ida.

  “I’d give it another day before I’d call in the police, Sarah. You wouldn’t want to embarrass her, and make her feel she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. Older people aren’t children. They deserve to be treated with dignity.”

  “You’re right. She was annoyed with me when I questioned her driving all the way to Florida by herself.” There was a lull in the conversation. “I’m sorry. I must be boring you to tears.”

  “It’s nice to hear your voice, Sarah. I’m glad you called.”

  She happy danced around the kitchen. “So, what’s new with you, Dan?”

  “I’m moving.”

  Sarah stood still. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve accepted a job with a vascular surgery group in Towson. I couldn’t say anything before because I didn’t have a signed contract, but it’s official now.”

  Sarah sat down hard on a kitchen chair. Was the room spinning? “Towson, as in Maryland?”

  “As in Maryland. My mother is ecstatic.”

  She’s not the only one “It will be nice to have you in town.” She decided to take the bull by the horns. She cleared her throat. “Will Gandalf and your girlfriend be moving here with you?”

  Silence stretched too long for comfort. She wondered if the phone was dead. She pulled it away from her ear and looked at it. Nope, still lit up. Sarah swallowed hard. She’d gone too far.

  He sighed. “That must have been some breakfast at the deli. You mean Bobbi? No, that’s over. It’s just me. And Gandalf, well, shortly after you moved away, I gave him to a family on a farm.”

  Sarah looked at Winston and opened her mouth in shock.

  “You gave him away? Why?”

  “Because you were right. His behavior was outrageous and he got worse after you moved out. He needed more attention than I could give him. And lots of space to run around.”

  Sarah could scarcely believe her ears. He gave up his dog. And he said she was right. She would have to mark this on the calendar—in permanent marker. Could a re-do be on the horizon? She tried to remain calm, taking deep breaths before she spoke again. She felt terrible that he’d given up his dog.

  “I’m so sorry, Dan. I know you must miss him.”

  “I do, but the family has six kids. They love him and told me he’s become a perfect gentleman. Said I could visit him. But that would be too hard.” He cleared his throat. She knew that sound so well. He was trying not to cry. Poor baby. “I know I made the right choice.”

  Maybe you could teach old dog new tricks. Breathless with excitement, she could barely speak. “Call me when you get into town, I’d love to see you.”

  She waltzed around, fe
eling happier than she had in months. Sarah caught sight of her reflection in the kitchen window. Yup, that’s me, the one with the huge, goofy smile.

  “How’s this weekend look for you? My mother’s trying to fix me up with some strange woman she met at the Essen Deli and I thought I’d humor her.”

  Sarah laughed. “We could pretend it was all her idea.” He agreed.

  She ran out of words. All she could think of was how she wanted to stroke his cheek, touch his hair, and lean on his chest, encircled by his strong, protective arms. She whispered goodbye and realized it sounded like a prayer. In the midst of all the angst and sorrow over her mother’s injuries and finances, she’d almost forgotten what joy felt like. “Welcome back, Dr. Rosen, welcome back Dan the Man, my boyfriend is coming back.” She picked up Winston’s front paws, and boogied around the kitchen with him, singing at the top of her lungs. The dark clouds had parted and now the sun was shining on her life. No one and nothing could drag her back down into that deep, sucking well of despair.

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah woke up, still tired, at half past five in the morning. She removed Mitzi from her head and Neferkitty from her crotch. Both made annoying little mewing sounds, but went back to sleep. Winston continued to doze. She must have worn them all out the night before with her home defense routine. Sarah’s back and butt ached from falling on the floor and her shoulders hurt, other than that, she was fine. She hadn’t told Dan about her Tasmanian Devil Woman routine. There were some things best kept to oneself, especially embarrassing stories. She threw some water on her face and headed to the kitchen for some strong coffee. On her third cup, she decided it was time to wake up Winston and call Aunt Ida.

  Winston lay on his back. After yanking on his front paws, Sarah rolled him over on his belly and yelled at him. He dragged himself to his feet and moseyed out the back door. She picked up her cell phone and called Aunt Ida.

  Voice mail, again.

  “Aunt Ida, I hope you remember to re-charge your cell phone soon. If I don’t hear back from you, I’m sending out the dogs.” She ended the call and set the phone down.